


The Wolves Den

by AlphaPockets



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fantasy, Fantasy Gore, High Fantasy, Homebrew Novelization, fantasy fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaPockets/pseuds/AlphaPockets
Summary: In the continent of Elazic in the South Sea a slumbering darkness is waking. The whispers of discourse tangle in the winds as the nations are faced with ever growing tensions. A king's assassination. Dragons awoke. The barriers between the planes grow thin. And danger and responsibility is thrust toward a group of strangers who met at chance in a tavern amidst their separate travels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ** This is posted on Wattpad by me personally. I have it here, as well, for those who already follow me and would like to just use one platform

Kadisyl was a simple town on the cusp of a dense forest which made up most of the national interior of the elven kingdom. Ancient by the ways of man and dwarf, but still young in the eyes of the elves, many of whom could lay down claim that their parents had helped in the establishment. Tucked far away from the shadows and sounds of the wilderness, the threat of bandits was more likely than any beast or creature. A quiet town with little more to brag about than a decent collection of guards and an annual tournament to test the strength and skills of those who passed by. A tourist trap, perhaps, as it did pull in some of the people from neighboring hamlets and villages, but also something to mark the autumn's official arrival in Fremorē. The annual notice for such an event was placed on the bulletin board of the local tavern, a simple wooden building of two stories that hosted the only true bar for miles, and a dozen rooms for let.

Inside that tavern was an assortment of people, most of whom were present for the tournament. A handful, however, stood out in their variety against those who had only stumbled through for a few nights on their way elsewhere. Their interests were piqued alongside the crowds when the announcement came through that the mayor would begin the sign ups that afternoon. "A gold piece to enter, and a victory to win half the pot." Not much to brag about, but for some it was enough to live on or to catch a ship home.

A dwarf sat at the bar with his attention turned to the ale in his hand the moment the town crier ceased. It had been far too long since he had tested his skills in the moment's simple battle for reward. A hardened man. A soldier in his past now a continent away from his regiment and homeland. He had little to lose from a show of strength, and time to burn before he could find the guild again as they traipsed through the elven countryside. Basher (as he went by choice) was a stocky young dwarf of twenty and five, with a thick head of brown hair that had long since grown out of his professional style and a thick beard. He still wore his chainmail and breastplate, but his shield and hammer sat at his feet against the bar. There was no need to rush in just yet.

Standing by the entrance was a young wood elf not yet out of his first century who had drawn curious gazes from patrons and staff, with eyes like a child who had seen too much. And yet, he did not look like the street rat boys who caused issues in the major cities. Rather, he was withdrawn and polite to those he interacted with. A strange formality in his statements and actions alluded to a secluded upbringing, as did the hide armor he wore that was not of traditional elven make. He was lithe, with dark green eyes and a head of mousy-brown hair. His otherwise flawless, tanned face was marred only by a jagged scar on his jaw that had healed over time and sat pink against his complexion. A runaway or a child forgotten by his family, the townsfolk figured, and let him be as he caused no issues. Curious, it was, but never enough to cause an issue. Aelan tried to keep it that way.

In two corners of the main room were odd reflections of themselves, though just different enough to tell their lack of relation. One was a small high elf, fair with platinum hair and sharp, green and gold eyes, who watched from her shadowed corner. Her face was marked with dark semi circles scarring her cheek bones. There was an edge to her, as though the crowd itself was more than she had expected or had wanted in the small stop of a town. It had been a long time since she was among people to this extent and it was disorienting. The constant nagging in her mind kept her hand on the dagger tucked under her travel cloak, just by her leather breastplate of a dark hue. She seemed to want to sink into the background. After all, Aelira was not sure she should be there much longer, even with the promise of gold.

Her reflection held no such anxieties about being in the eye of the public. Alarmingly similar features, pale skin and eyes like beach glass, fell upon a woman of small stature at the bar opposite Basher. Her own silvery hair was tucked and hidden beneath a wrap of cerulean that matched the cloth about her waist. Though she had removed her bracers and arm guards for the evening's activities, her sword stayed firmly attached to the belt that was slung over her otherwise full plate armor. She had a small crowd about her, drawn in by her fluidity of the language despite the foreign accent. Her armor was dwarf in make, though she seemed a human with an accent only found to the far east of the continent. Caoimhe held court among the locals with a smile on her face, enjoying the way it felt to be among a happy crowd once again.

Eyeing everyone with a moderate level of apprehension from a lone table towards the back of the room, was a young half-elf from across the desert. His attire spoke of his life in the human kingdom —a simple gi of white and orange. He watched with silver eyes as the people around him interacted. He had come to the nation when he found he had nowhere else to go. A transport had brought him as safe as possible through the desert. He had no plan, only the understanding he could not go home. He had never been entirely part of the crowd there with his mixed heritage, yet he found he was still an outsider here, as well. Maybe not to the extent of everyone else, but he knew eyes fell on him. In Tranel, they all saw an elf, yet here they all saw human. Jae, himself, still was learning who he saw in the mirror.

The last of these strangers, was the man who stood at a pillar in the near center of the excitement. He was dressed in all blacks and dark browns, and so brought an air of uncertainty to those who tried to discern his nature. He was tall with dark brown hair, and a scruffy beard that nearly overwhelmed his pale skin and brown eyes. The human was watching everyone carefully, sizing them up as they moved by. He was here, watching two people specifically, but without a desire to alert them of this, of course. It was dangerous to be too obvious, yet he had a plan. And he had rules to follow. So, he watched for now, knowing it was only a matter of time. The tournament would bring them all together and, if he were lucky, he could turn the foolishness into some coin. He had his own agenda, but that he could put on hold for now. Marcus was patient. He could wait.

It was the twenty-fifth of Octavis. That day, a number of fate lines shifted and intertwined as the early morning drew to a close.

Early afternoon was met with a warm day in the sunlight. What trees sat in the village were already turning vibrant in their hues. The mayor of the town, a middle-aged elf with his short-shorn hair tamed and a set of robes that looked much like a proper suit, stood at a small podium set up in town square. At his side were two figures, an unlikely pairing for those unaware of who they were. He was speaking with the taller of the two, who had his head bowed as he listened. The half-elf's golden hair was slicked back and gleamed against his bronze skin. He was young, mid-second century, and wore the black and silver armor of the Death March, the elite guard of Fremorē. His strong jawline was taut as he listened to the mayor, who stood a head shorter than himself, as he spoke. At the guard's elbow was a young elf, still in his first century, with sandy hair falling into his face and round spectacles perched on his nose. He was not paying attention, but rather was reading a book that he had pulled from his bag.

The guard cleared his throat as his eyes glanced over at the growing crowd. The mayor started and smiled with a sharp and exuberant grin of a politician. The two others took their cue and stepped back as the man regarded the crowd. A smaller crowd than usual, but he could see some who stuck out. An interesting assortment, especially as the contest was not held by the laws of residency for who could participate. His winners from last year, who included the young man who had championed numerous times before, would make it difficult to win.

"Welcome," the mayor announced to the crowd. It effectively silenced most who were still whispering. "As we are all gathered today, I am sure there is no question as to what awaits you all. Today is the start of our tournament. And as there are some who have returned, keep in mind that there is always a change in what to expect." He paused for dramatic effect. "This year, we have two exciting rounds before the final battle against our champions of last year."

At this, the mayor motioned to the two standing behind him and just off to the side. The young elf still read while the guard watched with a passive but stern expression.

"Now, of course, we shall tell you on the day what is to be faced, so that no advantages can be had. But for all those willing to join, the entry fee is a gold piece. Just one! And the reward shall be half the pot for the winning pair. For all those willing, I ask you to step forward and speak with my associates. In two hours, the teams will be chosen. Tomorrow at nine in the morning by the dial, we will gather, and the tournament will begin."

A general clamor started as three elves who had stood to the side took down names from the four dozen who had arrived to take part. The mayor used this moment to retreat inside. The two champions remained and waited to be dismissed. Much of the crowd remained as the three clerks disappeared to create their teams and before long, returned with their results. Two by two, the group was whittled into twenty-four teams. Strangers paired together, looking through the crowd for the face who matched the name announced, then most returned to the tavern to acquaint themselves.

Aelan and Basher were at the bar. An air of tension sat just as heavy as the night before, for the dwarf had been dismissive of the elf's attempt at friendly conversation. Their skills, and that of all the pairs, were that of range and melee. As they spoke further, it appeared to also be of magic and mundane abilities. Aelan explained his heritage as a druid from the forests of Tranel. That he was skilled in natural magic, despite his age, and was more traveled than many humans who had lived the same number of years he had. It was soon clear however that getting much more out of Basher than the precursory, "I am strong and use a hammer" would be impossible. Aelan, instead, made use of the time talking strategy and of theories on what this initial trial would be.

Quiet and awkward, Jae sat with Aelira. A monk who was skilled in unarmed combat, he was hopeful that his years of endless training would keep his new elf friend, who seemed fragile if not terrifying, safe (should they even make it to a fight). Aelira was not overly forthcoming with her abilities, but left the explanation at magical skills and soon showed a sharp mind that was quick to expound on what Jae offered. They were confident in their ability to work together, if nothing else, as one's earnestness meshed with the wary personality of the other.

Marcus, however, had noted the others and was now sizing up his armored companion. She sat with her wrap still wound and what he seemed to believe was modesty intact by it. Unlike the others, he noticed she lacked the shyness or rebuff others held in the presence of new acquaintances. A cleric of the King of Storms, she had traveled far and saw much. He observed her carefully and knew it would be easy to let her take the hits, as she seemed comfortable with, should it come to that. But his issue was beyond that. He wanted the money and the unknown sat in his way.

"I'm just saying, I could poke around to get more information." he purred, leaning in too close. "It's just a bit of fun. What's wrong with losing a gold if half is going to the town?"

Caoimhe's eyes hardened, but her bearing held. He smirked.

"There is a gambling ring in town, and it may prove useful to skew the odds." He watched as her lips pursed further and looked for a new angle. "I don't want it for myself, trust me. You are a kindly person. I'm sure we could use it for good. For an orphanage like ones I come from."

Her eyes remained sharp as though she were reading his expression. He softened his gaze and relented to himself that maybe some could go there. A sliver of truth was enough for her to find it. Marcus grinned darkly in his mind.

"I'll just do some snooping. Get us a bit of information. Nothing too big, then bam. Place a bet on a group separately with the others and there's the money. Even if we lose, we still win."

Caoimhe held his gaze a moment longer, before sighing begrudgingly. "So long as this goes to help, fine. I'll do my part. Now, what..."

She was cut off by a thud outside and the heavy exhale of someone hitting the ground hard. Marcus noticed nothing, but Caoimhe's head turned to the open door instinctively and was on the move. The sound of an injury, without fail, pushed her into action. Her keen hearing made it easy to discern it, even over the talking. She could also hear footsteps behind her as Marcus followed. The man was strange. Perhaps too keen for anyone's good, including his own. But the level of foolishness and false bravado he'd shown had pushed him from a threat to a possible inconvenience. The person falling outside took immediate priority for that reason. However, when she went outside, she found the half-elf staring down at someone her own size, who was lying supine where she fell, as if in defeat rather than pain.

"What happened?" Caoimhe asked, not moving her gaze from the elf.

"She fell." the half-elf replied almost in humored disbelief. "She was trying to climb to the roof."

The elf flushed sharply and Caoimhe looked at the half-elf in confusion. Then back to the elf, who was now pushing herself into a sitting position with a small grunt.

"Look," the elf said, an accent from the inner parts of Fremorē shining through. "It seemed easier than it was."

"How hard could it be?" Marcus mocked. Caoimhe scowled at his tone and dropped to her knee to take a better look at the elf. "There's even exposed wood to grasp."

"You think you could?" the half-elf asked. His tone sounded more curious than dubious.

"Of course. Why, want to race me?"

Caoimhe's gaze locked with the elf's in front of her. The pair rolled their eyes and shook their heads at the antics. Caoimhe's pupils turned all white for a second as a pulse of warmth flowed from her hand through the elf's body. What damage had been done slowly stitched together.

"Sure. Can one of you two count us off?"

The elf, who introduced herself as Aelira, agreed. Both blonde women watched from the ground, expecting a show of two men either failing equally or scaling the building with moderate ease. What happened instead was Jae shooting upwards on "Go!", grasping one portion of the wooden frame of the building and using the tension of his leg and arm strength to push higher. Marcus, however, had made a slip in his grasp just above the ground level's window and fell back down immediately to the ground. Jae turned once he got to the roof and looked down at Marcus, who had stood and brushed himself off rather than attempt again. Scarlet stained his features now, though Caoimhe knew the only wound was in his pride.

"Well," Marcus proclaimed, eager to remove himself, "That was... fun. But I think I have something I wanted to do tonight. So, it was wonderful meeting you all."

He flashed a smile too bright and ducked away around the corner. Caoimhe's eyes followed his path for a moment, then flicked back to her companions. Jae made his way down from the roof and pouted slightly.

"Is it just me, or is he weird?" Jae asked. Aelira snorted.

Neither answered more than that.

Marcus grumbled as he pulled the hood over his head. There was no point in lingering after that show. He had his mission ahead of him, after all. And that was to get information.

He had followed the mayor from the town center after the sign-ups. It was a stately manor compared to the others of the village. A simple affair that stood white with a brown frame behind a high gate. A once charming garden sat now wilting in the bite of cold evenings. There was one guard, but from a glance Marcus could see he was not too sharp. There was too little going on in this town for them to worry it seemed. Or the underground was too tame for the threat to be real. Smuggling and gambling were all that lived out this way. He climbed the fence with ease and dropped silently to the side and headed for the back of the house. Cursory glances as he moved in shadow showed the kitchen and dining room. Further along: what looked to be a parlor, a library. That left the second level for the room in question.

A frame for climbing vines not yet in full growth ran along the side of the building. It was an easy shuffle to the window that he had correctly assumed would be the study and with a quick flick, he unlocked the window and slid inside. The room was a simple affair. Desk. Bookshelves. A few letters and assorted papers. He moved to the desk and looked through the drawers quickly, finding correspondence on hire for game beasts to be delivered, and with a few individuals with whom small spheres were to be hid. It seemed they would have to find these individuals to qualify. The third was nothing more than a signed release from duty for the weekend so the guardsman, Beiran, could be present. The other was a letter of release from an instructor for Frin.

Information acquired, he slipped out again and into the backyard. He sat in the bushes while the one-man-watch walked by, then scaled the fence once more with a grin of satisfaction. The monk may be able to climb a building, but could he do more useful things? He seemed naïve and foolish, so perhaps not. Marcus moved back through the town with his hood down, back to the bar where the others had gathered. It seemed in his absence, his partner had befriended not just the two outside, but half the bar, as they spoke together. The elf was still sullen looking — a possible new ally in this — while the half-elf seemed a bit overwhelmed. New to the group was the child not much younger than the champion.

As though he had a bell on him, Caoimhe's eyes snapped to him through the crowd the moment both feet were in the establishment. That could be a cause for concern later if he wished to continue moving about unwatched. A grin slid onto his face, however, and he sauntered over unbothered.

"Can I see you upstairs?" he asked.

He expected resistance, not for her to move along with him so immediately. He also did not expect the others to join them as they went. Marcus looked at Caoimhe with concern. There was a sharpness in her gaze that made the argument die in his throat. He simply turned and moved toward the stairs, now with a posse in tow. They made it to a room that the Caoimhe stopped in front of and unlocked. The group piled in and she shut it, then looked at him expectantly.

"Have you let the whole tavern in on our plan, love? Would make it harder."

"Or," she returned pointedly, "We work together and ensure that potentially one of us does win. The team we bet on. And that involves more than just us."

He had apparently not been prepared for her to think on it more and develop her own conclusions. Marcus' plan was already falling apart with too many hands in the pot. And too many people connecting to a matter that he'd rather have isolated.

"Fine." Marcus knew better than to argue at this stage. "I found out that tomorrow is essentially a game of hide and seek. A handful of people in town would be selected to move about the town with something on them. A small orb or something. Each team has to look for them and the three who return with the items so to the next round."

"Easy enough." Caoimhe stated. Even he had to nod in agreement.

"Then there is a battle against some creatures, Cockatrices they were called, though I think I've only heard the name in passing. I don't know what they are."

"Uh, they can petrify you." the young elf replied carefully. "Not overly tough beyond that, but that's bad enough."

"How many?" Aelira asked.

"Three." he answered. "And it seems our two friends are a fresh promotion to the Death March and a student at a wizarding academy."

"So. Magic and mundane." Aelira muttered. "So, we work together and make sure we get three of the spheres, then?"

They murmured in agreement and Marcus headed for the door.

"Brilliant. I'll track down the gamblers tomorrow after that and find out who to bet on. We put in our pool for the group with the worse odds and make sure they win."

The morning began with the soft light of dawn and fair weather. Most of the elves were either already up or only heading to rest now with the early sun. Aelira was in her corner of the bar with a book out and a glass of water by her half-finished breakfast. Caoimhe came down the stairs, adjusting her bracers and elbow guards as she went. Her hair was once again securely tucked under her wrap and gear attached. Aelira was surprised to see a human up so early. Aelan, who she had seen leaving earlier, made more sense. She returned to her book. After a moment, she heard the metallic clunking of Caoimhe's approach to her once tranquil nook.

"Can I join you?" she asked.

Aelira looked up and blinked a few times. The tension in her face was plain to see. The older woman was searching for reasons, motives, or maybe concealed truths. What she watched in turn was a moment of confusion, before the young woman's eyes softened and she simply stared curiously. Earnestly. It was curious to see someone so open with their emotions and unafraid to reveal themselves to a stranger. It was not enough to shift her from the reserved concern she felt, but Aelira nodded and turned back to her book in silence.

"I'm glad to see you have no lasting damage from that fall. You're lucky. Were you racing Jae, as well?"

"No," Aelira replied and looked up to find those eyes watching gently again. "I climbed out the window and... slipped." She ducked her head in remembered embarrassment.

"That's generally why people use the stairs," the girl offered. Aelira gave a bland look.

"I was trying to get to the roof," she explained. "It was... suffocating in here. Too many people. I thought I could just escape for a moment and... well."

Caoimhe only hummed in response and nodded. Nothing more was stated about it, which made her feel better. No judgement out loud now, only the silent reservation about it all. It felt nice.

The pair sat for a moment in comfortable silence until the half elf she was paired with, Jae, joined them. He looked as unsure as the day before with his eyes watching everyone with heightened alertness. The next to come down was Marcus, who slid over to a different seat and spoke with one of the maidens who worked at the tavern. His eyes fell on them for a moment and then looked away, as if not attempting to join them just yet on purpose.

In the back of her mind, a thought tingled. It was like a small current or pins and needles at the base of her neck. Something that was common in her life now and had been for decades. With it came a gravely hissing voice, whispering to her that he could not be trusted. To watch out for him. This voice generally thought that of everyone, but for once she felt that her own uncertainty was intermingled with that voice's willingly. In her travels, she had come to know the type. The man made no attempt to look anything other than his part in the world —roguish and unseemly— with his dark attire that obscured him, the loose scarf and deep hood. His charm was always too much, and smile too bright for her to trust.

At twenty minutes before nine on the dial, the group collected outside the small tavern. Aelan had returned from his walk and stood silently next to Basher. The dwarf held strong to his character with a signature scowl on his face. He was willing to take part in the joint effort for the search party, but he had decided that anything else was not for him. And he would not be giving any money into the bet. Marcus had hissed "Just like a dwarf," under his breath at that as they had headed to the center of town. The others had stayed silent for the moment. In a few days, this would be over and each on their way. If Basher then decided to take an issue with the rogue, no one would stop him.

Four dozen competitors stood around as the mayor spoke, his voice magnified with magic to be heard over the crowd. His dry tone drawled on, lulling most into a state of bored lethargy. It was only half-way through the rules that he announced the challenge was live and the people who had been milling about casually by the group suddenly scattered into the streets, and those competing were left turning their heads to find where they had gone. While Marcus and Basher took off to an alleyway, Caoimhe stayed in her spot, rooted, and listened. Her eyes closed and followed the retreating footsteps around them. When she opened them, a shift to the right caught her attention and she saw someone look out from what could have been a paddock or a barn.

"There!" she stated sharply and headed that way instead.

Marcus and Basher skidded to a halt as Jae ran forward. The young half-elf was fast. Alarmingly so. He pushed past the rest quickly and chased down the individual with Aelan trailing behind. The man gave little resistance to Jae and handed the small sphere over. He showed the others what it looked like and went off to return it to the Mayor. He and Aelira were now to wait in the center of town until the end of the challenge.

Basher and Caoimhe looked around and heard a storm door clatter shut in the distance. Marcus tugged the wooden door to no avail when they found it. With a flourish, he offered to pick the lock as it would be quite easy. They waited as the rogue failed twice to get the old lock to click open. Finally, Caoimhe rolled her eyes muttering she would fix it later and pulled the door handles hard. The wood groaned and resisted before cracking off its hinges. The small woman stumbled back slightly, caught by Basher, and tossed the door to the side. With a snap of her fingers, a single ball of light glinted in front of her, and they descended into what they thought was a cellar. As it wound further inward, Marcus smirked and realized that this was in fact a series of tunnels. The tunnels he had wanted to find the night before but could not. How convenient. The second man was climbing up a ladder when the group found them. The ball was handed to Caoimhe, and she returned with Marcus to the square.

Basher and Aelan struggled alone to find the final person. Three other groups had found theirs, but this man seemed to be an expert in this part of the challenges. That coupled with their inability to work together without stepping on toes made the process become drawn out. He was finally spotted toward the center of town again they cornered him at a stately home with a high fence. With four hours gone passed, the challenge was called with six spheres found.

The twelve remaining competitors now stood before the mayor in the square. He spoke of the next challenge in better detail then what was last given, though still vague enough to give nothing away. He explained that it would be a battle against rare and vicious creatures as a test of might. That if anyone felt unable to fight in this manner, they would be able to pull from the competition without issue. They would, in fact, be magical beasts, and there would be a need for clerics on standby potentially. The group dispersed and the six found themselves the lone contestants for the next challenge.

"Now remember! It is a show," the elf explained cheerily. "Not only must you win, but showmanship is voted on by the crowd. Whomever gives the best performance will be the group to continue onto the next round. Keep in mind that both members of the team must impress the crowd as well!"

Each person eyed their partner with a distinct feeling of uncertainty as he retreated from his podium once more.

"Well then," Marcus offered as he leaned back in his chair with an arm casually thrown over the back of Caoimhe's. "Why don't you say a little something about yourself, so I know what I'm working with. An ice breaker if you will." The group had returned to the tavern, in order to prepare for the fights of the next day.

Caoimhe watched him for a moment, then looked over at Aelira. The elf wore the same expression of disinterest she felt in the moment. However, there was no point in denying that would be a key part of how they would win—knowing about the other.

"Well, I am a cleric. I am a follower of the King of Storms and I am from across the sea."

"You traveled here?" he pushed.

"Clearly," her response was politely tight. "I've been traveling for some time in both this kingdom and Tranel."

"I'm from Tranel," Aelan mentioned quietly.

"Huh," Jae huffed. "Me too."

"I grew up there, but not in a city exactly. We live in the Snowdrop Forest... and I was sent out to learn about my clan and circle a few decades ago. My leaders watched for signs of magic from a young age."

Aelira visibly blanched at that statement. She knew he was nowhere near his second century, which made him practically a child. Even when she wandered alone, she had been over 100. A hiss in her mind reminded her not every parent cared to keep the child close by and she winced.

"Aren't you already young?" Caoimhe asked with forced innocence.

"Sixty-five," he stated proudly. "I was sent out when I was forty to my circle in a different forest."

Aelira noticed the way Caoimhe froze for a second as she did the mental math. He was eight when he was sent away in human years. They made eye contact again. She slowly turned their attention back to him.

"That... is young," the human offered diplomatically. "What about you, Jae?"

"Uh. Well, I was raised in a temple, wait. No, a monastery. Training. I left about a year ago, I guess and ended up out here." His reply was stilted but not untruthful. As with most of them, it was not wholly truthful, either.

Basher had left for the bar by then once again, and no-one had stopped him from departing.

"And you, lovely?" Marcus asked Aelira, who glared.

"Soul searching." she responded. "I have been traveling for about a century. Nothing really to talk about in the meantime."

In her mind, she wanted to say so much more, yet the words failed and were replaced before the syllables had formed on her tongue. The momentary alarm at her forced silence gave the sensation of a sudden free fall. She swallowed and looked away, unsure if she wanted anyone to notice the change.

"Well, I came here from another continent as a child." Marcus offered. "Lost my parents young and had to raise myself. Thus... why I have such a soft spot for children in need. I made my way on the streets, as one does in a bind, and came out here. Kind benefactors who wanted to help a young soul in need. And I have tried to repay that favor in kind."

"How noble of you." Caoimhe offered. She got a smile in return. "And you can fight, then?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I can do just fine in a fight." he promised. "But if you would excuse me. I have some searching to do on my own about that... idea. Don't wait up for me."

Marcus stood and left the room, taking his cloak with him in a flourish. Their eyes followed him as he went though, watching as he tried to slip into the shadows once the door clattered shut in his wake. The day was still young. Jae and Aelan went walking through the town. Aelira joined Caoimhe on a trip the door she had broken to fix it.

As night fell, the girls headed to Caoimhe's room. Once the door shut, Caoimhe started to unwrap her scarf from her hair, letting the shoulder-length, shimmering silver locks fall from the hair cap which kept them in place. Aelira started and looked away, unsure if there was a more spiritual reason Caoimhe tucked them away. The younger woman noticed and snorted.

"It's fine." she promised. Her accent made it almost sound playful. "It's not some... ceremonial reason I keep it all tucked back. Habit, I guess. I do my best to look less, well."

The girl paused and turned to look at her. For the first time, Aelira noted that despite the highly elven or human features that the young girl possessed, she seemed like neither in the candlelight. There was a glimmer to her that was unearthly. Her eyes adjusted in the moment and the illusion was gone.

"I get it," she offered and then loosely motioned to the marks on her face.

Caoimhe opened her mouth to comment when a knock came to the door. Marcus then entered with a book in hand and Aelan and Jae in tow. The girls once more shared a look of mutual understanding and turned their attention forward.

"Can I help you?" Caoimhe asked sharply, with her hand fisting in the blue silk on her lap.

"I have some helpful bits you all may like to know," he offered genially as he sat on her bed. Aelira saw the muscle in her jaw clench.

"Pray tell." Aelira spoke before Caoimhe could.

"I did some research on our little friend Frin."

"Who... is Frin?" Aelan asked.

"The small one we have to face... eventually. He is a little wizard it seems. And has a small selection of spells that could be disastrous."

Caoimhe watched him and said nothing.

"Now, I am not the most... arcane of us, but things such as shielding, and force spells seem like a potential issue. Others that seem quite... painful. It may all be older information, of course, but it is more than enough to plan against."

"Now we just need to find out about the guard." Jae muttered to himself.

"Oh," Marcus smirked. "I have an idea how. He is drinking downstairs."

With a communal look of understanding, everyone slowly filed out, but before Marcus left Caoimhe caught him by the hood and kicked the door shut. Marcus found his back slammed into a wall and himself face to face with a heavy glare. What interested him was the way her eyes glowed near white rather than their soft green, and that her hair, for a moment, seemed to defy gravity. Interesting information. And quite the bartering chip to remember.

"How did you get this information." It was not a question.

"Well, I did some snooping as I stated-" Marcus' sentence cut off as the small woman's grip tightened. "I may have also acquired some... items that were once in his possession," he squeaked out, windpipe slowly being pressed by the twist of his cloak.

"Marcus."

"All is fair in love and war, my dear. After all, think of all the good we will do with this small bit of bad."

Her eyes hardened. His body slammed once again against the wall and his breath was forced out of him.

"Do well to behave in the future," she told him as she stepped back.

"The bet will be best on Jae and Aelira," he told her as he left the room.

Marcus went downstairs and noticed the half elven guard in question at the bar. He was out of his armor now, as he was off duty. A tall man, and Marcus could easily see him as charming to those more attracted to the masculine type. It would not be difficult to make that work. To the side of the bar, he watched Aelira talk with Frin, who was quick to make his excuses and leave. Shame she was not very good with the communicating aspect. She was charming in her own right and could do far more with that skill. But the human looked back to his potential future competition and decided to join him. He shucked off his cloak and scarf, leaving him only in a leather chest piece and his shirt sleeves. Confident, he sat a seat away from the other man and started to watch in short increments. The more he was caught, the longer he held his eye contact before turning away and feigning embarrassment. After a few minutes of his he finally cleared his throat.

"You're... one of the guards around here, right," Marcus asked. "I've just... seen you. In town. You stand out a bit."

The half elf looked confused and blinked a few times.

"I'm really bad at this. My name is Marcus." he offered and turned to the other man more fully.

"Beiran," the man offered. "I'm part of the Death March, but only new to it."

"Oh, a promotion." Marcus replied and got a smile in return. "Congrats on that, then. How about a drink?"

"Oh, well," Beiran's cheeks darkened. "I don't see why not."

"Caoimhe?" Aelira's voice came from the other side of the door.

It was opened and the elf saw the girl dressed down to her jerkin and socks. It was strange to see how truly small the woman was without the armor on her now. The dark steel had hidden a cerulean and gray padded under suit that seemed too showy for what the cleric would have worn otherwise. Aelira paused and looked away as Caoimhe pulled off the top of her suit without warning and tossed it to the bed.

"You are not used to people, are you?" she laughed. "No point in being shy, not like you're seeing anything new here."

"Look-" Aelira began to argue as she looked back up.

"How is Marcus' master plan going?"

"I think he's trying to fuck Beiran," Aelira grumbled. "It was kind of awkward to watch."

"For the love of the gods," Caoimhe muttered. "Let me put my cloak over me and we can head downstairs."

"In just that?" Aelira asked, alarmed.

Caoimhe stared back. It was not as though the young woman was undressed. She had on a sleeveless undershirt that showed off both a small assortment of black tattoos and a toned and bulked body. Still, it was far less than Aelira thought she had ever worn once she became too old to be seen outside in less than full dress. She opened and closed her mouth a few times then cleared her throat.

"Never mind, suffer with us."

"If you've done all that..." Marcus stated with a smile. He had moved to the seat next to Beiran now, but was half sitting on it and half leaning with one leg stretched to be in between Beiran's two. "You must be incredibly nimble."

"I guess you could say I am light on my feet."

"I'd love to see that."

He pretended to be shocked by the sound of music in the background from a few of the village folk who had started to play in a corner. As Caoimhe and Aelira stepped downstairs, Marcus was pulling Beiran to the center of the floor. The half elf for his part looked on the line of tipsy and smitten with the attention of the handsome human. He was quick to wrap his hands around Marcus' waist and pull the other man close. No stranger to intimacy with another man, the guard gently guided a now timid Marcus into the simple steps of a half waltz. The rogue swallowed and feigned a look of content as he was pressed flush against the other man. Over his shoulder, he caught the eyes of Caoimhe, who was watching with one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched.

"You feel like you're chiseled from stone." Marcus murmured while trying to communicate with her to help him. She glowered in response.

"A lot of work." Beiran replied smugly.

"The guard is lucky to have you then. It makes me feel better about the sort who are in these events."

"Is that so?" Beiran replied and leaned down closer.

"I feared it would be all... failures and greedy people who are in it for the money like the celestial I am teamed with."

"No, this is nothing like that. A simple town's tournament."

"But you're so strong."

"I am."

"Then you could practically lift me."

Beiran lifted him easily in a show of strength and Marcus took the moment to again plead with his eyes to Caoimhe as he was slowly brought to the ground. The look of panic was replaced with one of saucy smiles as it felt like Beiran was about to move in for a kiss. This was a bit faster than Marcus had expected, even with the soft brushes and touches that he had done over the past hour. As a puff of warm air touched his lips, a sharp and terrified scream echoed from the upstairs.

The music stopped and Marcus felt himself practically dropped as the off-duty guard ran up, taking to steps at a time. He followed along with Jae to find Caoimhe shaking and sobbing in the hallway. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears. Her cloak wrapped around her like a housecoat and she was out of her armor. She was also not in front of her room, though she was explaining someone had been in her room when she came back from the water closet and had gone out through the open window. In Beiran's arms, the cleric looked meek and small as a child with her shaky breaths ripped from her. He left her in the care of Aelira and Marcus and ran outside to find where this potential man had gone. They brought her into the room and the instant the door shut, her face and demeanor changed to a sharp look of annoyed disappointment.

"You're welcome," was all she said as she left the room and went into her own.

The next day was cooler out and a wind came from the west. The competitors were led outside of town by the Mayor's workers and were explained the rules of the fight. Simply put, they were to only fight the creatures, not each other. Clerics were on standby from Triplex in the event of severe injury.

What they were eventually led to was a simple structure with a small pit on the inside, barely a few dozen feet in diameter. They walked down into the pit from the stands and watched the three gated doorways open at the far side. The crowd filed in slowly. Frin and Beiran sat by the Mayor, the first reading rather than paying attention. When the crowd was seated, the Mayor announced the events of the day and introduced each of the contestants by pairs.

With that, a rumble of cranks turning echoed under the cheers of the crowd and gates at the edge of the pit lifted. From each, what looked like a skinned rooster with leathery wings, hooked beaks, and a snake-like tail ran out with a gurgling crow followed by a hiss. The contestants froze for a moment and sized up what they were looking at. The middle ran forward with another hiss. Marcus was the first to attack, throwing a knife at the creature's neck. Its body wriggled like a serpent and moved out of the way. Jae stepped forward and ducked low with his staff, with a quick hit. It connected with a hollow thud. The young half elf followed through with the momentum and made a strike with his elbow and dropped the staff once more with a crack onto the now limp body of the creature.

The crowd cheered over the scream that the second beast gave out as Basher charged forward and hit twice with swings from his heavy hammer. In retaliation the creature lashed out with its tail, connecting low on the Dwarf and earning a sharp hiss of pain. Aelan fired a shot over Basher's shoulder into the temple of the cockatrice and it slumped to the ground. The crowd cheered once more as the cleric, miffed slightly at her partner, stepped forward and closed her eyes for a moment with her hand glowing like a ball of light. Her eyes opened and she sent forth a blinding beam of light that was followed with tremendous accuracy by the other spell caster. Both beams struck the creature, leaving a heap on the ground, the final shot cleanly slitting the last beast's throat. The girls threw each other a smirk across the pit.

A beat of silence held the stadium before a roar went up through the crowd. "An incredible show of strength!" the Mayor declared when the crowd quieted. "One of the fastest I have ever seen this achieved. But now, we must choose who is worthy of the final challenge. Contestants, please form your groups."

They did so.

"Now, the first group is the quick Marcus and the brilliant Caoimhe."

Few cheers erupted, though Caoimhe figured as much. She was the only one of the pair to actually contact the beasts.

"Next, the agile Jae and the powerful Aelira."

Cheers were deafening in comparison to the silence before. To the shock of both, Marcus could be heard trying to coax for more.

"And finally, the strong Basher and the sharp-eyed Aelan."

Again, the crowd was loud. But there was no mistaking the difference. Jae and Aelira were asked to step forward and were presented as the winners of the challenge. In the morning, they would return to this stadium for one last challenge. A fight between the wizard and the guard.

"That was weird, right." Jae asked as he caught up with Aelan and the girls. "That he was cheering for us and not himself?"

"You two are the best bet option." Caoimhe sighed. "He wanted you two for that."

"Oh, I forgot about that. Probably where he slipped off to."

"Probably."

It was early evening by the time the group had recollected. Basher was once more in the bar drinking and the rest were at a table. Marcus had slipped into the building earlier without making eye contact. He had left with their gold for the bet to make the payment and returned with no desire to talk just yet. Now, however, Beiran was inside and the rogue had magically appeared again. Once more by his side and leaning into his space.

"Is... he trying to..." Aelira looked at Caoimhe.

"I don't know. He seemed freaked out yesterday when it came to a bit of a snog. Not sure why if he was pushing for it. Not like Beiran isn't attractive enough."

"I mean..."

The sentence fell off from there and they snickered. An hour later, Caoimhe and Aelan watched as they disappeared to Marcus' room on the ground floor. Caoimhe rolled her eyes and looked forward. If this were not some strange plan to get an upper hand on the fight, she would denounce her god.


	2. Chapter 2

That morning saw Aelira and Aelan up early again, though they stayed inside and silently enjoyed the other’s company. As with all elves, the pair rarely needed a full night’s rest or meditation. It was not uncommon to have a city alive at all times of the day due to this, and it was why most taverns were open continuously. It seemed that neither were morning people of the traditional sense, which suited Aelira just fine. She was nervous at the prospect of the fight. She had never been much of a fighter and only really got into small tussles with her best friend growing up—all soft shoves and joking.

The voice snapped in the back of her mind to remind her if he were truly her friend, then why would he have let her vanish for so long. She shuddered and looked up to find Aelan looking at her. She offered a smile that did not reach her eyes and he watched her with the same even curiosity. A question was on the tip of his tongue, but he seemed unsure how to ask or if it was welcome. The moment passed and he looked back to his food and her to the book in her lap.  
Just like the others, the voice reminded her, he too will forget you or compromise you.

She sighed and looked to the stairs. Jae came down next and Basher from his room on the ground floor. Neither greeted the other, but Jae spotted the other two and joined quickly with a smile. For a moment, Aelira forgot the pang of truth behind the words she was told. How can someone be so happy to see her if she was so undesired? The monk sat beside her, adjusting his crossed sash a bit and re-tying the leather thongs on his arm that held the sleeve in place. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. Aelira shook her head and he offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, I got you. It’s just for fun, anyway.”

He was earnest about this to the point that Aelira almost believed him. She opened her mouth to reply but noticed he had flagged down a server to order his food. He had stayed angled toward her though, she knew he was not cutting out of the conversation. She glanced at Aelan and noticed he had not bothered to look up at Basher, but instead looked eager to speak with Jae.

“Were you two not… compatible?” she asked, mentally cringing at her own comment.

“Uh… no,” Aelan admitted. “Maybe now, but when I first met him it was the night before, and I had introduced myself because he seemed to need company.”

“How did that work out for you?”

“He told me to fuck off. Caoimhe told him off for it and took me to the side instead.” He smiled softly. “But we worked well together otherwise, I guess.”

“He’s a bit surly to be sure,” Aelira added. “But from what I’ve seen from dwarves that can be pretty common.”

Jae huffed and nodded as his food was placed in front of him. As he started to eat, the soft clink of armor told them Caoimhe was on her way down the stairs. Her hair was once more tucked into her scarf, and she was adjusting the bracers as she walked. Aelan pushed down the bench for her. She sat with a thanks and looked over the room with a frown on her face and a furrowed brow.

“What’s up?” Aelan asked and started to look around with her.

“Have you seen Marcus yet? It’s nearly time to leave.”

“He’s probably still waking up,” Aelira replied and they both rolled their eyes. “Should we get Basher with us?”

“Yeah, might as well,” Caoimhe sighed and stood back up.

“Are you going to eat something?” Jae asked, already flagging the bar maid again for another plate. Caoimhe blinked, then gave a soft smile and placed a few silver pieces on the table in payment before walking to Basher. 

Aelira watched her for a moment. As she moved, there was a hiss in the back of her mind. She wanted to trust and like her, but the sensation that prickled told her not to. And to stay away. She sighed and looked back. She needed to not focus on the other girl who would be gone soon anyway, especially not with the constant hiss. She started when Jae called her name with a small smile.  
“We’ll be fine,” he told her again and took a bite of his bacon.

The sweet twinkle in his silver gaze was like a pang of affection from the past. She felt willing to accept it for the moment. The elf smiled back slightly and went back to her book.

The crowd packed toward the top of the pit, larger than the day prior. As Jae and Aelira entered the ring, Caoimhe leaned over the banister and gave them both a hug and muttered a small blessing to keep them safe and guided. She was shocked to feel a steady hand on her scabbard’s belt and turned to note that Basher was there, ensuring she did not fall over the side. They nodded and took their place by the railing, away from most of the crowd. They had heard whisper of how dangerous it was to be so close because of wayward attacks, but they settled in nonetheless. Soon, another figure joined them.

It was Marcus, and he looked worse for wear; with heavy bags dug under his eyes and a shallow pallor to his face. His eyes were reddened from either dryness or tears and his hair was utterly a mess. Caoimhe’s eyes flicked over his exposed neck for any signs of a truly good time but found his skin unmarred. She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him.

“You look like shit,” she informed him brightly and got a groan in response. “Had you come down sooner, we could have fixed you up with some grease and hair of the dog. But now, you get to suffer.”  
The brightness in her tone vanished as Beiran staggered out under the baleful gaze of Frin. The man looked worse than Marcus, with a greenish hue to the otherwise warm skin tone. His eyes seemed glassy at a distance and his movements were uncoordinated. Her jaw fell slightly, and brows furrowed as she assessed him from afar. This was far more than just staying up all night enjoying another’s company in bed. The man was sick, disconcertingly so, and would not have been permitted out of a med bay were he in barracks.

“What the hell did you do to him,” Basher grunted out, voicing her judgement.

“Had a bit of fun,” Marcus replied doggedly and leaned back with his eyes closed. “Slipped him a spot of something not long after we went to our room to make sure he’d fall ill before the match. Then had to bloody wait up all night for it to take effect. Don’t worry, I know all about his training day stories. Can even give you some pointers if you want to have a go at him next, love.”

Caoimhe knew the comment was tossed at her and said nothing, but the frown deepened. The mayor cut them off with the announcement of the fight before they could get started. As the whistle sounded, it was Jae who moved first as before, with quick steps right up to Beiran. The taller man’s sluggish movements made it almost too easy for the man to strike once with the staff and again as he returned to a defensive posture. Beiran slashed wide with his sword and the momentum almost carried him further into Jae’s space. 

Aelira took the break in action as a chance to rush forward. A guttural hiss rumbled in her throat as she contorted her fingers slightly, flicking her wrist as she skidded to a halt beside Frin. The woman raised her arms up a few inches with her wrists bent at an angle. A trail of smoke followed her movement and the ground beneath Frin darkened as though an endless hole erupted beneath him. Mist-like tendrils shot up, gripping at his arms and passing through his body.  
The boy crumpled with a shudder. A moment later, the repeated clack of staff striking Beiran was followed by another heavy thud and the man dropped to the ground as well. The other four sat with mouths slightly open as the crowd around them broke into cheers.

“That was…” Aelan muttered, and Caoimhe followed with a hissed “Fuck…”

As they stood to cheer, Aelira turned to the crowd with the lingering black mist clinging to her fingertips. There was a gleeful mania that seemed out of place as her eyes watched them all, yet she looked almost unseeing. She raised her hands above her head and called upon their attention.

“Look! Witness the power of my lord,” she told the crowd.

The crowd cheered around them as Aelan hissed, “What the fuck,” softly. Caoimhe shook her head, saying she did not know. The mayor began to talk, and clerics restored Frin and Beiran. Her gaze floated away from the ring as the money was handed off by one of the clerks to Aelira and Jae. 

She was pulled back by a strange noise in the distance. A heavy flapping that sounded like a sail that had pulled free from its stays or a flag left up in a tempest. She gripped the closest arm to her, Aelan, and turned toward the noise. She focused on the horizon as the Mayor spoke of the duties of the champions for the next year’s tournament.

“What is it?” Aelan asked as Caoimhe tightened her grip on Aelan.

“Dragon,” she breathed and was drowned out by the terrible, pitchy rattle of a roar echoing in the early sun.

The cheers of joy and excitement shifted into screaming in panic. The four jumped to their feet immediately and their eyes moved to the crowd as they panicked. As they attempted to coax the people safely from the stands, more civilians poured from the town down the road. A hollow rushing noise filled the air over the screams. Caoimhe turned back to see a torrent of ice forming along the tree line.

A loud crack snapped through the air, then a man was standing in the center of the ring with a look of panic. He looked to the sky and heard the approach clearly. He was tall with rich, dark skin and white wisps of hair that fell out from under a tall, conical cap of black velvet, with white star markings scattered as distant constellations. For a man of older age, he was powerful in build as he pulled himself to full height and commanded attention.

“This way,” his voice boomed over the screams.

Calls of a title, perhaps, or a word echoed from the crowd as they changed direction. But the man had stooped low. His hands were moving swiftly along the ground as chalk flaked away from his grip. The group guided people into the ring as he finished, stood up and looked over the panicked faces. The Tree Guard and Death March members who lived in the town aided in the crowd control. A pair of men in fine dress pulled at the arm of one and pointed to Marcus, who was scanning the crowd before dashing off toward the far end without warning. A sucking noise and pop echoed behind the man and a portal shimmered.

“Quickly!” he ordered with a wave of his hands.

The people poured through without further pressure. Jae and Aelan stayed to the back and waited for the others to get through. As the edges of the portal waivered, the man pulled Aelira to the side and told her to wait for the next portal. She opened her mouth to argue, but the final people were pushed through, so Aelira caught the back of Caoimhe’s armor and called for the others to wait.

The portal snapped shut, but not before the echoes of “That was him!” came through. Aelan, Aelira, Basher, Caoimhe, Jae, and Marcus all turned to look at the older man who was already in the middle of making another circle, different from the first. Aelira knew it was simply a different location sigil for a teleportation spell. She was snapped out of the focus on the man’s work when another, horrifying shriek boomed over the trees. As the portal opened, they looked to the man who was headed away already.  
“Go through, I will meet you there in a day. Hurry.” His voice refuted the option of argument.

Aelira was the last to step through and found herself along with the others in a small room of carved stone. There were warm accents along the floor and walls that told of a well-kept homestead, though where they were was beyond her. With a teleportation circle, it could have been anywhere in the world so long as he had been there and had access to the location magically. The six of them stood unsurely, their hands limp at their sides yet ready for action in a moment. All they heard for the first few minutes was the crackle of fire and their own breathing as the stress and adrenaline dropped from their system. Aelira felt a shiver course through her body as her stomach settled.

“Where are we?” Aelan asked finally in a hushed whisper. Aelira shook her head, indicating that she did not know.

“Could be dangerous,” Marcus pointed out.

“It is dangerous,” Caoimhe stated. They looked at her as her eyes returned to their bright green from a faded white. “He just sent me a message stating not to touch anything, and that his familiar will be around to settle us in.”

“A message...?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Magically,” she replied, as if he were foolish for asking. Her hands dropped from the hilt of her sword as she did so. “It’s not a difficult skill for someone of his skill, it would seem.”

“So, what are we to do, then,” Basher grunted. “And what the hell happened.”

“Uh, wait here most likely,” Aelira pointed out as she stepped away from the group to look around. “Wherever here is.”

Soft footsteps caught all their attention and they spun toward the stairwell. A shadow waddled into view and a red panda stepped onto the platform with a fluff of his fur. He cocked his head and gave a light trill and a chirp. The group stared back at the animal. The animal sat back on his haunches and his tail swished over the ground. Another noise chirped out and his head cocked the other way.

“I… we… don’t speak woodland creature,” Jae pointed out in a whisper, to either the group or the panda.

“I may be able to do something,” Aelira offered and looked to the red panda.

She focused on the part of her brain that she used to communicate with the entity who shared her mind and directed the focus instead to the panda. She felt something like a series of question marks in reply and sighed in relief. Are you the assistant?  
It was not so much language she felt back, but the information was given that he was Ravi, the man’s familiar, and he was going to take them upstairs to the main level, set them up for dinner, and settle them in bed. When she asked where they were, he simply stated at a mage tower and that they were safe. They’re allowed to explore what was unlocked. She was about to ask more when Aelira realized she had been silently staring at this creature without blinking for over a minute with no other reaction. She turned to the group and smiled sheepishly.

“His name is Ravi and he’s taking us upstairs. I guess we’re in the man’s home and we’ll see him in the morning.”

“But who was...?”

“What does he need from us?”

“Where is he?”

“How did you talk to an animal?”

“Why are we trusting this?”

All the questions came at once, and Aelira threw her hands up in the air toward them with a startled expression.

“Woah, one at a time, please. I don’t have any of that, but I have a feeling we won’t know until he’s back anyway.”

The answer did not satisfy, but as Ravi had started up the stairs, they had no choice but to follow. The group walked up the steps and found themselves in a much more welcoming space. This resembled a traditional living quarters, with a den and doors to what they assumed were bedrooms. A door of steel stood to the center of the hallway they arrived in, as well as a stairwell. Ravi continued to waddle, towards a dining room and into the kitchen. They sat at the table awkwardly with their armor and gear preventing a comfortable spot. 

Relative silence fell over the room. For all of them, it was the first time they had seen a dragon. For some of them, it was the first time they had seen mass destruction. For none of them, it was the first time they felt the numbing adrenaline drop and the aftershocks that racked the body every time.

Ravi returned with plates that he pushed onto the table. Jae and Aelan watched with open confusion as the red panda continued to act not as an animal would, but more like a person. The food was laid out; a simple affair as it was simply a red panda who had done the work. The silence was replaced by the awkward sounds of chewing, cutting food, and more coughs and throat clears than usual. Finally, Aelan spoke.

“That’s… not a normal animal,” he stated with a look into the kitchen where Ravi was.

“Of course not,” Aelira replied. “He’s a familiar. He is more of a fey helper that can appear as an animal for magical people.”

“Is that why you could talk to him?” Jae asked after swallowing the food.

“No… I guess you could say it’s just something I can do.”

The subject dropped, and they continued to eat with an unsure, awkward air among them. Dinner was consumed and cleared away mostly in silence broken only by utensils on plates and quiet thanks and requests. Jae and Caoimhe went to the kitchen to aid in cleaning up, which found the other four exploring. Basher had made his way out to an overlook on the first floor with windows that looked out across a great forest. He looked out and noted the complete difference in the terrain, realizing just how far they had been moved from Kadisyl. Marcus, Aelan, and Aelira found their way into a library. It was not long before Basher joined them through the door they had left open, and his eyes caught a display case along the far wall.

His eyes glanced over what was held in there. A small, black bead that hovered slightly in its casing, A cloak of vibrant colors with odd patches sewn on was hung next to a mirror with delicate designs in the silverwork. A ring in its open box was placed next to a gem, a row of carefully organized potions in simple but pretty glassware, and a set of horseshoes. A rapier stood by a shield and a rolled carpet. Two additional spheres in their own secondary containers. A book that was placed carefully on a small shelf beside a candle. A brazier. And a hammer of dwarven make with intricate details on the two blunt ends and leather wound around the handle.

His eyes widened as he looked at the hammer, but a sudden thud made him start away from the case and look over to where a still exhausted Marcus had thrown himself onto a chair, which skidded into a bookshelf. Basher looked once more at the hammer, before stalking off to the room that Ravi had said was his to think. It was impossible for his search to be over so quickly for one of the items, but he also could not deny that the item in the case was at least the first hint at the infamous throwing hammer that had been lost when the first trips to Fremorē had come from Draynor. He had lived for so long hearing the tales of this item from elders and teachers that it was hard to believe it could be real and not folklore. However, the markings and runes matched the old artwork too well.

Basher slowly stripped off his leather breastplate and bracers. He rolled his neck and felt the slow pops of his neck releasing tension. Next was his belt and chainmail, both of which were draped over the lounge chair that sat in the room. Down to his undergarments, Basher went to the wash basin to scrub his face and look into the small mirror that hung above it. His blue eyes were tired and brown hair loose, shaggier than he ever thought he would want to wear it. But it had been a long time since he had to look a specific level of professional. And he had a long beard, though without the adornments many liked to have woven in. Basher pulled his eyes away and down to his calloused hands. He had truly done more than most to remove himself from that given name to emulate the earned one as a soldier. Yet he still hoped to regain his own birthright again.

“What exactly are you looking for,” Marcus sighed from his spot on the lounge chair. His head rolled along the backing and followed Aelira’s movements.

“A hint as to what type of spellcaster this man is. Or even a name.”

“And by looking at his library, you have learned what exactly?”

“Well, he’s no sorcerer, as it seems much of his skills were probably learned through books and studies.”

“How do you know that?” Marcus asked in a curious voice.

“Experience,” Aelira sighed vaguely as an old memory flashed in her mind, replaced by a hiss.

“Well, I am going to bed because I feel like hell itself.”

Aelira hummed but made no other comment about it. His presence was not a pivotal part of her experience at the moment. She turned the corner and found Aelan frowning and looking out the window at the forest around them. In the far distance, a strange set of glows on the horizon hinted at towns somewhere in the trees. She could not tell where exactly they were, but the density of the trees meant it was at least central Fremorē rather than southern or western’s sparser layout.  
“Not exactly how we planned the day to end,” Aelan muttered. He looked at Aelira from the corner of his eyes and offered an unsure smile.

“No,” Aelira admitted. “It seems that everyone is headed to bed.”

The two elves watched the night grow darker from their spot at the window before pushing away and walking to their own rooms. Aelan stopped to shut the door once again as they had found it. The boy walked to his room and frowned at the bed. It was something he was still not used to, even after a few years of traveling as the “civilized” person does. He pulled off the hide armor his parents had helped him make when he began hunting, followed by the pauldrons that had been his father’s and were of leather in a leaf-like design. He paused, then pulled the bedding onto the floor carefully, setting up a bedded nest with the pillows and blankets on the floor and settled down with a sigh. It was not quite the same, but it was good enough.

Jae had left Caoimhe and Ravi not long after the dishes were put away once again. It was awkwardly quiet as one third of the party had no way of communicating with the others. All the same, it was almost domestic and comfortable to do something like this with others. A chore that was no longer bothersome, in fact. He had left for his room and took off his boots, but otherwise stayed mostly dressed. The boy was not sure when he fell asleep, but he felt the shift on his mattress and sat up suddenly. His master sat by him in his own robes, faded with use and time, still folded on him and the same kindly face watching him.

“Good morning, Jae,” the man said with the usual lightness to his voice and a soft smile. “How has your adventuring been?”

Jae’s mouth worked a few times and he looked around to see he was no longer in the wizard’s tower but his own room from back at the monastery. His master was now kneeling beside his bed roll with laughter in his eyes.

“I have been… I think I have made new friends,” Jae replied after a moment of gaping. “I was just in a town and… a dragon came.”

“And what did you do?” his master asked as he rose to his feet. “Come with me, Jae.”

“A wizard or someone with magic showed up and told us what to do. And we helped get everyone get through safely.” His master smiled at him. “They got through and we were sent somewhere else. Honestly, I still don’t know what’s going on, but I think it’s okay.”

The door opened into a clearing in the woods. He knew the place and a pang of guilt and hurt struck him hard in that moment. The atmosphere seemed to shift around him and a tingle ran down his spine. There, he saw three familiar human boys about his age, though their faces were almost blurred. They continuously kicked and hit a small child who writhed in pain. The boy twisted and Jae recognized it as himself. He knew it was one of the many times he had run into the woods to escape their torment. He started to move when the face shifted and paled in tone. His hair lightened as well into the soft blonde hair and fell to his shoulders. The young boy was now Caoimhe. The face shifted again, became more angular and the ears elongated to points and dark markings appeared. Now, it was Aelira who was wincing in pain.

Jae’s hand gripped tight and he went to move but found himself rooted in place. His heart clenched. The skin darkened to a dusty tan and the hair shortened and darkened to brown. The marks faded and a scar appeared on the chin. Now it was Aelan who was begging them to stop. He paled again and the hair darkened. Ears shrunk and short facial hair sprouted to form Marcus. Jae wanted to look away but found himself glued to the moment as the beard lightened and skin tanned slightly. The beard and ears grew to now show Basher with bruises forming on his face. The person changed once more to resemble himself, but modern and no longer a boy with his jawline sharper and eyes sharper.

“Please,” the real Jae begged his master.

“Remember, my child. You may defend, but always aim to protect and not harm those around you.”

Basher was not surprised to find himself in a dream. It was one of the ways he remembered he was still alive when it came to his work as a soldier. The area felt almost familiar, though it was still so different than what he was used to. It was the construction, clearly, that was familiar. Even surface locations in Draynor lacked this brilliant green hue that Basher had come to know as the tones of the southern nations. But the archway, the use of granite and the near improbably angled to create the doorway and leading paths... He was alone, the dwarf noted as he looked around, but headed in all the same.

It was an old ruin. And it was hot. He could feel his body heating slowly the further into the building he walked. It was so quiet that the man was sure he heard something in the distance that sounded like heavy growling and grunting that could have passed as language. Basher continued and wiped his hand over his face and shook off the sweat. As he continued, his eyes caught signs of elven influence in the ruin. The native stone of central Fremorē and the use of wood at some points when stone frames would have sufficed. He walked deeper down the hall as if called to the presence of something that resonated in his soul. His eyes caught sight of a tunnel he knew well as a mine shaft entry.

Basher looked down the tunnel and felt a thrill run through him. The shimmering veins of the most precious items for his people woven under the ground. Mithril. The hum in his mind continued, but he ran a finger gingerly over the ore and left with new wonder. Doors and passages lined the halls until he stood in an open area with the roar of fire around him. There sat a hammer, much like the one in the case, but the runes shimmered and glinted with magic. He walked forward and heard a rumbling voice. It was harsh and thunderous as metal-on-metal clanging with weight.

“Are you ready?” it asked.

Basher sneered at that question. He had spent his life training and preparing to be something better than any could imagine. He was never not ready for a challenge. His hand wrapped around the handle of the hammer and lifted. With a crack of a whip, it lifted from the ground. For a moment, he felt like home was not just near, but accessible again. He could feel the energy pulse through it like a heartbeat and he grinned sharply.

  
Marcus woke in the middle of a battlefield. He was standing, dazed, as he looked around. It was not a landscape he knew well, or at all. The world around him seemed muted and dark with the vibrancy pulled from every image. All but the red of the sky. The red of the land. And the red of the streams of blood that wound their ways around his feet and everything around him. The scent hit him suddenly, the rotting and metallic sting of blood and burning. A dry sob to his side made the man turn to watch Jae wrapping a wound on Aelira’s side that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Her already pale face seemed devoid of all tints of reddish vigor as she slowly bled out.

He turned to look to his right and saw the still body of Basher lying broken on the ground. His body glowed as Caoimhe and Aelan sat over him. The first had her eyes glowing a golden white with hands outstretched, tears streaming down her face. Aelan had his hand to her as his own magic of green hues coursed into her. Marcus noticed the gaping wound and how her plate armor looked torn like paper at her side. He, too, had blood trickling from a long, jagged slice on his forehead that streamed into his eyes. He blinked in concentration.

Marcus tore his eyes away from the people he knew to see the ground was littered with the bodies of hundreds, maybe more. Their armor was from the Dwarven nation of grays and whites. The darkened and burnished armor of the Human kingdom. The soft blues of foreign lands and the black and night armor of the Death March and Tree Guard. All lay motionless or shuddering their last breaths.

A great cry caught his attention and he watched as Beiran fought with a humanoid. The person was wrapped in chains that did nothing to impede their movement as the half elf swung his great sword toward them. Attached to one of the chains was Frin, who lay dying or already dead and limp. Those who were still moving were only known to the man from the hollow horrors of his night terrors. White, skeletal forms shambling in armor with jagged, cruel blades. Insectoid creatures of blue hues with spears and women with wings, red skin, and eyes glowing. They all paled into comparison to what had stalked behind him.

A hot breath puffed over the back of his neck and Marcus froze. He turned in spite of the crippling fear to see a towering gargoyle five feet taller than him glowering down with rage and vengeance. His maw dripped with saliva and blood as he stood over the human, who simply waited for the end.  
He woke up instead.

Aelan was used to dreams more than most elves. He felt it was part of what he suffered, after all. The memory scarred deep into his mind. The memory of what he had seen and had been unable to prevent. It never made seeing it all over again any easier. For once more, it felt like the first time. The sharp smell of fire and burning flesh. The bright light that burned his eyes and his skin as he could feel the heat radiate from the epicenter. And there stood his sister. She did not crumple or scream as she had that day in the forest. Rather she turned and looked at him with a stare of darkened indifference. The flames licked along her body and the heavy, dark robes that she wore rather than the traditional furs and hides of the clan. Aelan swallowed and realized that her gaze had slid behind him. The boy turned and saw a small family behind him of elves. Aelan looked back and watched as tears fell down her face and evaporated from the heat as darkness overtook him.  
Three figures now stood over a body, mourning who laid on the floor. It was no longer his home forest. He could not get a solid bearing on where he was with the dim lighting and the dense trees. The boy moved, fearing it was once again his sister only to hear the voices. They were not sobs echoing in the air, it was harsh words hissed in Sylvan. A little girl lay on the ground. Aelan tried to see her face, but it had been mutilated somehow. The boy swallowed around a lump in his throat as he recognized the figures as his elders and feared it had been their doing.

A flash of energy cast by one of them blinded his vision, and he woke in the reddish-orange haze of a new location. In the distance were mountains and hills tinted with soft blues and purples against the red landscape. And a group of humans rode with their horses along a path they knew but did not exist. It was a large group of more than four dozen. Twelve rode with banners of white embroidered with a fist breaking a wand with sparks at its tip. The leader was a man with a white shawl over his armor and a war hammer on his back in the shape of a fist. Directly behind him was a lithe figure with their face obscured with a shawl. Their eyes felt like they connected with Aelan’s and his vision once again blacked out.

It was wet. Aelira could hear the dripping around her. It was damp with a chill, though the mist hung in the air. The space was dark and endless with a strange ripple in a distance that never got closer, like a river or lake. Her strides pushed past the sensation —and the writhing caresses that touched her as she walked— toward the mass of darkness ahead. She knew him by now and knew what to do. She paused and held in the shudder when the slick touch grazed her cheek and slid down her neck. The elf closed her eyes and held her breath as the larger appendages rushed over her form, feeling her contours as an insect inspects an item—frantic and bordering on aggressive. Finally, one wrapped about her waist and she was dragged down to the ground without impact, then pulled forward. Yellow eyes opened before her and glowed in the darkness as she stopped moving. She felt herself lift off the ground, suspended before It.

The familiar prickle in her mind started to buzz until it was nearly static in her mind. A guttural hiss. There was no mouth as it spoke, but she felt the words wrap around her mind with the same grimy feel as the appendages.

“Hello, my friend,” the throaty voice rumbled darkly. “You have brought more followers to me. And they will soon do the same.”

Aelira saw flashes in her mind. The blurred faces of two elves, a half elf, and a human who looked familiar from Kadisyl.

“As my followers grow, so does my power. And the stronger you will grow.”

A sudden heat engulfed her body and radiated. Aelira closed her eyes and screamed silently in the sudden shock of it. As quickly as it came, it vanished again, and she opened her eyes. It was as though her eyes had become adjusted to see this world better than she ever had before. The dark, slick floor and wet walls of slick stone. Her hand crackled with energy. She looked down and in it a shape formed out of the mist that still hung in the air. The voice slipped back into her mind as the world around her dimmed—all but the glow of the yellow eyes and the glint of the dagger that now sat heavy in her grasp.

“These new friends of yours will take you far. Use them for our need. But if they get in our way…”

The voice faded as her hand grew wet and warm. Red poured from the edge of the dagger like an open wound.

Caoimhe had closed her eyes to pray before sleep. And she woke up as though she was still kneeled, facing the east. It was warm, but still felt that strange dampness she had come to know as the mainland. The girl opened her eyes and found it was a bright morning with the sun streaming through the green leaves of trees. Around her were the ruins of an old temple. White and yellowed stone sat as moss covered walls that showed the labyrinth of the building that once stood strong. She stood and looked around for anyone she knew but found no one. There were birds in the distance and the sound of insects. The songs of the forest spoke of a peaceful location. The birds never sang with danger afoot.

She was curious by nature and began to wander the pathway created by the broken stonework that led through the meadow. It was calming to be away from the insanity of the world pressing into her mind. It was with an easy mind that Caoimhe walked into a half-formed room and saw a sword sheathed stone. The girl smiled and felt a laugh bubble in her chest at the classic mindset her imagination went to at times. A literal adventurer and she was still not too jaded to be influenced by the old legends. She stepped forward and looked at the sword to find an ancient rune type scrawling along the hilt of gold. It was Celestial, the language she knew by nature.

She frowned and stood up, now intrigued. The old legends made the swords and artifacts like this etched in the native language of the culture. Draconic had been the most common in her youth, though Infernal was also popular. She walked around it and sighed for a moment then took a deep breath. Fortune favored the brave, after all. Caoimhe gripped the handle with her left hand and felt a pulse through her like electricity. In her mind, she saw the raging of seas and she heard the howling of the wind. It was something of her own dominion. Something of her own family.

She gripped tighter and felt as the sword remained still in her grip. She sighed and released it. A familiar presence came to her side. He was towering and broad with wild, gray hair and eyes like stormy seas. He wore a golden breastplate over simple white linen. He watched her carefully for a moment; a soft, private smile gracing his lips.

“My lord,” she said reverently.

“My dear Caoimhe,” his voice rumbled gently in return.

“Are you mad at me, lord?” she asked carefully, with her fingers still grazing the hilt.

“For?” he asked. He must have read her mind as she thought of the blessing she gave Jae and Aelira to win the competition. “Oh, that. No, for it was simple child’s play. Fairness is pivotal, but in this case your heart was in a better place.”

“Was this a lesson?”

“Everything is a lesson, Caoimhe, should you be willing to learn it.” The King of Storms smiled at her gently. “What do you think this means?”

“That I am not ready,” she stated simply. Her hand dropped from the sword and fell to her own. “And I have a long way to go before I am.”

He smiled at her as the light became all too bright.

It streamed through the windows of each of the bedrooms in the tower. An echo through the building woke all of the group as the sun crested over the forest and illuminated the area. Each room found each person waking from their own dreams of the night. Some startled, some settled, and some with more questions than they had the night before. They all prepared for the morning and gathered for breakfast to find the same old man from the day before, sitting with his hat off and exhaustion etched in his unassumingly handsome face, despite his age. He noticed them enter and sat up straight. Marcus opened his mouth, but the man held his hand up to silence him.

“My name is Asar Dom,” he explained in a gentle voice. “Welcome to my home. Let us eat, and then I will answer all I can.”


End file.
